A Little Time in Texas

by Joan Johnston

  To her surprise he lifted her up and set her on his lap facing him, so her legs straddled his waist. It was a far more intimate pose than she would have liked, but she was afraid to complain lest he withdraw his permission for her examination. She was conscious of her breasts inches from his chest, of the heat of his thighs under hers. She could feel his breath on her face. An uncontrollable shiver ran down her spine.

  “Anytime you’re ready,” he said.

  Angel held her breath as she reached out tentatively in the dark. She found his chin. There was a small cleft in it.

  “When was the last time you shaved?” she asked, testing the rough bristle of beard under her fingers.

  “Three days ago.”

  She slid her hand along his jaw and felt the muscle work under her hand. It was a strong jaw and led to prominent cheekbones. His nose was straight and not too big, but it had a bump along the bridge.

  “What happened here?” she asked.

  “Broke it in a fistfight. Twice.”

  There were wrinkles on his forehead and crow’s-feet at the edges of his eyes. He had done some living.

  “How old are you?”

  “I’ll be thirty-four next month. How old are you?”

  “A lady never tells her age,” she said, then added, “Twenty-two.”

  He had a widow’s peak. His hair was thick and soft, and she let her fingers slide through it all the way down to where it curled over his collar.

  “You need a haircut.”

  “I like it the way it is.”

  Apparently he was used to getting his own way.

  His eyes were wide-set and large, and the lashes were ridiculously long and curled up from his cheeks where they lay. His eyelids were softer than the skin on the rest of his face, which felt not quite smooth, but not leathery, either. The scar on his cheek intrigued her.

  “What happened here?”

  “Knife fight.”

  She frowned. “Seems you get into a lot of fights.”

  “Hazard of the job.”

  Angel had left his mouth for last, because it seemed the most personal of his features. There were deep slashes on either side of it. She wondered if he dimpled when he smiled.

  “Smile for me.”

  “Why?”

  “Please.”

  What she felt under her hand was more like a grimace, but yes, there were dimples there. “You can relax now,” she said.

  She felt a genuine smile form under her hands as he said, “Thanks.”

  His mouth, when he relaxed it, was wide, the lips thin, although the lower lip protruded slightly. She traced it with her fingers and felt him stiffen.

  “Does that tickle?”

  “No,” he said in a husky voice.

  Suddenly his hands tightened on her waist.

  “Angel?”

  She felt his breath on her face, felt him closing the distance between their bodies. What did he want?

  “You can tell a lot more about my mouth this way,” he said.

  Suddenly she felt his lips on hers. Soft. And damp. And insistent. And yes, the bottom lip was full. It was an altogether wonderful mouth.

  His tongue brushed against her closed lips, seeking entrance. The feeling was so exquisite that Angel waited for it to come again. His lips teased hers, coaxing. His tongue brushed her mouth again, and she gasped at the pleasure. His tongue slipped inside and retreated just as quickly.

  Angel felt her heart pounding; it was hard to catch her breath. She grabbed handfuls of Dallas’s shirt.

  “Dallas, I—”

  His mouth captured hers again. She kept her lips sealed, afraid of what might happen if she relented to his probing tongue. This was all forbidden territory. Virgin territory.

  Suddenly Angel realized she was kissing a perfect stranger. She pushed against his chest with the heels of her hands, and her mouth was abruptly released.

  Angel had been so wrapped up in her own reactions to the kiss she hadn’t noticed what was happening to Dallas. Now that they were no longer kissing, she realized his breathing was as tortured as hers, and his heart was pounding under her fist.

  “Did you find out everything you wanted to know?” Dallas asked in a voice harsh with restrained need.

  “Yes,” Angel gasped.

  He set her away from him. “Then I think it’s time we got started again.”

  He headed away from her, and she had no choice but to follow, unless she wanted to be left alone in the dark. To her relief the cave ceiling almost immediately rose again, so they could walk upright. When it did, he reached back for her hand.

  “I don’t want to lose you now,” he said.

  “I want to thank you for rescuing me.”

  “We’re not out of here yet.”

  “What could possibly happen now?” Angel asked. “I mean—”

  Angel was in his arms so fast, it was as though an unseen force had shoved her there. One of his hands fisted in her hair, the other held her hips hard against his. They were aligned from breast to belly, and there was no mistaking his arousal.

  “Does that answer your question?” he demanded.

  “Of all the dim-witted—”

  “Don’t start,” he warned. “I was doing just fine until you started all that touching. I had put every picture I had of you out of my mind and—”

  “What pictures?”

  “You backed up against a sheer rock wall, that white gold hair of yours flying in the wind. The way your breasts looked straining against that damned excuse for a shirt you’re wearing. The sight of those blue eyes of yours flashing defiance against impossible odds. I haven’t stopped wanting you since the first moment I laid eyes on you, lady. If you’re smart, you won’t provoke me into taking what you’ve got to offer.”

  “I should’ve known you were just like all the others,” she hissed. “Texas Ranger, my eye. Where’s your badge, Dallas? I had hold of your shirt pocket, and it wasn’t there.”

  “I took it off.”

  “What for?”

  “I’m on a leave of absence.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated, then said in a stark, quiet voice, “A friend of mine, another Texas Ranger, was killed three days ago saving my worthless hide.”

  “I’m sorry,” Angel murmured.

  His grasp tightened on her. “Sorry doesn’t help, Angel. If I’d been the one who was killed, there was nobody to give a damn. Cale left a wife and two kids behind. And I lost a friend who was like a brother to me.

  “I walked into this cave trying to figure out some reason why he’s dead and I’m still alive. Alive enough to want a woman. Alive enough to want you!”

  “Dallas, I—”

  It was too late for words. His lips found hers in the dark, and this time he wasn’t gentle. The same mouth that had been so soft was hard with unrestrained need. Ravaging. Plundering. Taking instead of giving.

  Behind the need Angel felt his anguish, and she responded to it. Her arms circled him in comfort. Her body softened against his, offering solace. As suddenly as it had begun, the desperation receded, leaving only the need.

  He could easily have taken what he wanted from her. She couldn’t have resisted him; he was much bigger, much stronger than she. But as reason returned, his mouth left hers. His arms surrounded her, and he lifted her off the ground as he hid his face in the fall of silky hair at her shoulder.

  Angel felt the strain in his body as he fought his grief. He shuddered once, and she felt him swallow hard. She reached up a hand and smoothed his hair back from his brow.

  “It’s all right,” she crooned. “It wasn’t your fault. I know you must have done everything you could. Why, you rescued me today without a whisker of thought for your own safety.”

  He didn’t answer her, but he didn’t push her away, either. She murmured comforting words, words she knew would not bring back his friend, but which might make him believe his was not such a worthless hide, after all.

  For the firs
t time in her life Angel was grateful for the dark. It had allowed this stranger to seek her out; it had allowed her to comfort him. Yet neither had to face the other when he at last lowered her to the ground and stepped away from her.

  “Thanks,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.”

  Dallas took her hand again, and they began to walk. He kept close to the wall to maintain his bearings, until at last the darkness gave way to gray shadows.

  “I can see light,” Angel said.

  Dallas began to move faster, but Angel wasn’t about to be left behind now. They were almost running when he suddenly stopped.

  There it was. The entrance to the cave. The sun was shining. The grass was bright green except where spring wildflowers left splashes of orange and yellow.

  Angel’s heart skipped a beat. That was wrong. There shouldn’t be any spring flowers. It was fall. An unusually early frost had already turned the grass brown. But perhaps these were fall flowers; and maybe the frost hadn’t caught this particular glen.

  She stayed beside Dallas as they left the cave. Bees buzzed. Birds sang. The mesquite blossomed.

  Angel held tightly to Dallas’s hand. “It’s very pretty here.”

  “It’s always like this in the spring.”

  Angel frowned and looked up at Dallas…and caught her breath when she saw his face in the light. How could he have called those eyes brown? They were hazel, dancing with flecks of green. His hair might have been brown once upon a time, but the sun had streaked it with chestnut and gold. His face wasn’t handsome, nor was it plain. But the wide-set eyes, the cheekbones, the strong jaw were undeniably appealing. And the mouth…

  “Don’t look at me like that,” Dallas said. “Not unless you’re willing this time to finish what you start.”

  Angel’s gaze left his mouth and met his eyes with their ridiculous curly lashes. “I know this has been a trying few hours. But did you just say that it’s spring?”

  “It is,” he said.

  “It’s not,” Angel contradicted.

  His brow furrowed. He reached out and gently brushed aside the hair that covered her bruised forehead. “Are you all right?”

  She brushed his hand away. “When you carried me into the cave it was October.”

  “It’s April.”

  “October,” she argued.

  He shook his head. “No, Angel. I’m afraid not.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He thrust a hand through his sun-streaked hair. “Maybe you blocked things out—the shock of being attacked and all,” he suggested.

  She shook her head. “I remember everything that’s happened to me since the minute those six cowboys cornered me against that rock.”

  “Look, maybe I’d better get you to a doctor.”

  “I don’t need a doctor,” Angel insisted. “You do.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe—”

  Dallas had been urging Angel forward beyond the hills that framed the cave opening. As the terrain leveled, she stopped dead at the sight of something extraordinary in front of her. “What’s that?”

  “What?”

  She pointed. “That thing. What is it?”

  Dallas looked worried. “Look, maybe you bumped your head in there worse than you thought.” He reached out to the small lump on her forehead.

  “No. I’m fine,” she insisted. “It’s just a scratch.” She stared at him expectantly, then looked over at the strange black object.

  “You really don’t know what that is?”

  “No. I really don’t. Do you?”

  “It’s my pickup truck.”

  “So? What is it?”

  Dallas stepped away and looked long and hard at her. “If this is some kind of joke, it isn’t funny.”

  “Why would I joke about something like this?” she demanded.

  “Where have you been living? This is the twentieth century. Everyone knows—”

  She grabbed his arm so tight her nails dug into his flesh. “Did you say the twentieth century?”

  “Yes. So?”

  Angel swallowed hard. “That isn’t possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s 1864.”

  This time it was Dallas’s turn to stare. “It’s 1992.”

  Angel shook her head in denial. “You’re wrong. When you dragged me into that cave, it was October 3, 1864,” she insisted.

  “When I stepped in from this side, it was April 14, 1992,” Dallas countered.

  Angel’s eyes went wide as she backed away from him. “How could that be?”

  “I don’t know,” Dallas said. His lips flattened into a thin line. “But if what you’re saying is the truth—” he paused, and it was clear he wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not “—there’s sure as hell no going back the way you came. If you are from the past, it looks to me like you’re trapped here with me—in the future.”

  Angel felt the sunlight dimming around her, forming a single tunnel of darkness. It sucked her down, like a whirlpool, and she felt herself surely, inexorably sliding into it.

  2

  Dallas had faced a loaded gun with calm, but when Angel fainted, he panicked. Somehow, in the time they had spent together in the cave, she had touched some inner part of him that had been held inviolate since his youth. When he saw her collapsing, it was as though something dear to him, something necessary to his very existence, was threatened. Adrenaline flowed, and with superhuman effort he leapt forward and caught her before she hit the ground. Unsure what had caused her to lose consciousness, terrified that she had hurt her head far worse than either of them had suspected, he lifted the slight weight of her limp body into his arms and held her close.

  “Angel?”

  As he stood staring down at her, he realized that he was in serious danger of stepping over some invisible boundary. He felt the threat. And the temptation.

  He fought his inclination to succumb and managed to bring himself back to a more objective state of mind. She was just another victim he had rescued from the forces of evil, nothing more and nothing less. She meant nothing to him. No woman did. No woman ever would.

  Still, he couldn’t shake his concern when she didn’t immediately regain consciousness. He quickly carried her to his pickup, and after one-handedly arranging a blanket, he lowered her onto the back seat of the extended cab of the truck. He smoothed the hair off her forehead, exposing a bruise.

  When you dragged me into the cave it was 1864.

  Either she was the best liar he’d ever met, or she’d hurt herself worse then either of them knew. It was impossible to think she had somehow crossed over a threshold from the past. Wasn’t it?

  Right now he had to get her to a doctor as quickly as possible. As he slid behind the wheel and headed the pickup toward San Antonio, he realized he was in something of a dilemma. No doctor was going to believe Angel if she told him she was from the past. Most likely she’d end up committed to some mental institution. And if the doctor did believe her? She’d end up under a microscope in some top-secret government laboratory.

  The possibility that Angel had come from the past seemed slight to nonexistent. The only thing in her favor was the quaint language she used. It had been in evidence long before there had been any discussion of where—or when—she had come from.

  Unfortunately the cowboys who had surrounded Angel hadn’t looked much different from cowboys today. It was unusual that they’d been on horseback, but not entirely unlikely even in this day and age. Dallas tried to remember distinguishing features about the men who had held Angel at bay. It was hard because once he had caught sight of Angel, he hadn’t been able to drag his eyes off her.

  Then he realized that there had been an usual yellow stripe down the outside seam of two of the men’s trousers. Gray trousers. Confederate trousers? His memory must be playing tricks on him. He realized that he wanted to believe her, because he didn’t want to contemplate the fact that she was really hurt or crazy.

&nb
sp; It was too bad Angel had lost the rucksack he had seen her set down outside the cave. Maybe there would have been something in it either to prove or disprove her claim. Dallas hadn’t thought to check the pockets of her trousers, but he would have her do that—or do it himself—as soon as he got her home.

  Home.

  Dallas shoved a hand through his hair in agitation. Where had the idea come from to take her home with him instead of directly to San Antonio? He had no business even considering it. He made the turn to take him west to his ranch on the Frio River outside Uvalde, even as he told himself it was a dumb thing to do.

  “Where am I?”

  Dallas looked over his shoulder and felt relieved to see Angel sitting up.

  “You’re in the back of my pickup—my truck,” he explained when she looked confused.

  She winced as her fingertips found the wound on her forehead. “I wasn’t dreaming?”

  He shook his head ruefully. “I’m afraid not, Angel.”

  Angel’s attention had been focused on the man; now it shifted to her surroundings. Her jaw dropped in amazement. She swallowed hard and said, “We’re moving awfully fast.”

  “No more than sixty miles an hour.”

  “That isn’t possible! What’s making this…truck…go?”

  “Nowadays the horses are under the hood,” Dallas said with a wry smile. He caught a glimpse of Angel’s horrified expression in the mirror. This was no time for an explanation of the internal combustion engine, so he said, “A mechanical contraption inside the front of the truck makes it go.”

  Angel waved a hand at all the dials and knobs in front of him. “What do all those buttons do?”

  Dallas punched a knob and a country and western tune started playing. “Radio,” he said.

  Fascinated, Angel asked, “How does it work?”

  “Don’t ask me,” Dallas said, shaking his head. “I don’t understand the innards of most of the modern conveniences I use.”

  He punched another button and a blast of cool air hit Angel in the face.

  “Air-conditioning,” he explained.

  Another button made windshield wipers scrape across the bug-spattered glass; yet another sent water spraying up to clean off the bugs.